


hearts with shaky foundations

by thesetemplebones



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt d'Artagnan, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesetemplebones/pseuds/thesetemplebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tension was thick between them and d'artagnan swore you could see it in the early morning's light. He knew Aramis was trying, by God was he trying, but this was a wound that he could not heal.</p><p>(sequel to 'to pull you back into my arms')</p>
            </blockquote>





	hearts with shaky foundations

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to my other story, 'to pull you back into my arms'. It can be read as a stand alone though.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads my stories and comments, bookmarks or kudos. It means so much to me! (: xoxo

_Oh, be the love that I am sure of_  
_Oh, so on and on we move along **  
**_

**++++++**

**G** oing to the palace was a struggle for D'artagnan. It hadn't use to be, _but now_ , now it was like having an old wound; one that had been taken care of but was still fresh enough that a shot of pain would shoot through you whenever you moved. Usually when d'artagnan went to the palace he was accompanied by the others or at least one of them, still, even then d'artagnan struggled. _Would it ever not be again_ , he often wondered.

D'artagnan was assigned to the palace today because the King requested him and no one could deny the King. Captain Treville didn't like that he had to send him to the palace but his hands were tied, d'artagnan understood that.

 _He is the King after all,_ d'artagnan sighed, giving him a grimaced of a smile before he left his office.

As he was saddling his horse, Athos had cornered him, having been informed by Treville that d'artagnan was to spend the day at the palace. D'artagnan had shook Athos' worry for him off, telling him that he was a musketeer and could do this.

 _As a musketeer yes,_ Athos said, _but as someone who has to face a constant reminder of his lover's indiscretion…_

D'artagnan had paused for a moment, his hands stilling on top of the saddle, as he was slapped with Athos' words.He knew that Athos meant them with no harshness but it still shook him none the less. It was one thing he both loathed and loved about Athos; his bluntness and no bullshit when it came to the truth, whether it hurt or not. Maybe it was because d'artagnan had not fully healed from it or because Athos' words stung, he responded, _I handled being around Milady, did I not?_

Unlike himself, Athos did not flinch from d'artagnan's slap. If anything Athos' eyes only softened as he stared back at the younger man. _You were still hurt, none the less._

Yes, yes he was. D'artagnan would not deny that but at least Milady went away and he didn't have to deal with her on a regular basis. The Queen wasn't going to just go away, the Dauphin wasn't going to just go away. Nor did he want them to.

_It's my duty, Athos._

_As a musketeer or lover?_ Athos questioned.

 _Both,_ d'artagnan shook his head, _I don't know._ He ran a hand over his face and looked at the other man, _it has been six months, Athos. I should… I am over it._

Athos stepped forward, staring directly at him as he placed a hand behind his neck, cupping it firmly but with a lover's touch, _there is not a proper amount of time for pain, d'artagnan. You heal at your own accord._

 _If I heal at all,_ d'artagnan mumbled; bringing to surface the truth of the matter. It was no secret to those closest to him, despite Aramis and d'artagnan talking and touching each other again, that d'artagnan was still hurt by Aramis. He had felt ridiculous because Aramis and him were not even lovers when it happened. What right did he have to be upset by a past lover of Aramis? _Because it wasn't just a lover,_ d'artagnan thought, _and it wasn't in the past._

Athos fingers pressed against d'artagnan's neck. When d'artagnan looked at him, he saw, not pity in the man's eyes but sadness and guilt; sadness because he knew too well that this struggle wasn't going to be easily overcome and guilt because there was no way that he could ease his lover's pains.

He saw similar looks in both of his other two lovers as well. Just by that alone, some of the pain d'artagnan felt was numb.

D'artagnan gave Athos a gentle smile, a brief genuine smile that didn't have pain attached to it, _the King awaits. You know how much he hates that._

Athos returned his smile and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth, squeezing his neck as he did so. _I love you._

D'artagnan gave a single nod, _I love you too._

* * *

 

When d'artagnan arrived at the palace, he was brought to one of the many parlor rooms where King Louis was playing with _his_ son; holding him in his arms as he walked slowly around the room, sometimes holding him up slightly in the air before he brought him back to his chest. He had to school his emotions before the King saw; swallowing the urge to vomit onto the expensive rug.

“Ah, d'artagnan!” The King smiled at him, “you grace us with your presence.”

“Majesty,” d'artagnan bowed, “my apologies for being absent. I have been under the weather as of late.”

“Yes,” the king nodded, “Treville mentioned something about you being ill.” He looked over at him, his eyes scanning him from head to toe, “you seem to be on the mend.”

d'artagnan nodded, “it has been a slow recovery, your majesty.”

“Well, I hope that your recovery quickens.”

d'artagnan nodded, “as do I, your majesty.” _As do I._

The King soon decided that he wanted to go outside and enjoy the fresh air, bringing the Dauphin with him to walk around the yard, d'artagnan following slightly behind. He would scan the surrounding areas before his dark eyes would focus back again on the King and the baby in his arms. With every kiss on the cheek, bounce and hug the King gave the Dauphin, d'artagnan felt as if he received a blow for every one. D'artagnan found himself thinking, _if this is how I feel when I see the King with the Dauphin, imagine how Aramis feels._

He couldn't imagine seeing his child being raised by another man, couldn't imagine the pain, knowing that you'll never hear the child call you _father._

“Your Grace.”

D'artagnan was pulled from his thoughts by the appearance of the Queen with Constance following behind, a weak smile on her face when she looked at him.

“Ah, Anne,” the King smiled, “come to join us have you?”

The Queen glanced to d'artagnan a brief moment before she looked back to the King, a gentle smile appearing on her face when she looked at her son in his arms, “if it pleases you, my lord.”

“It does,” the King smiled and handed the Dauphin over to the Queen.

The pain that d'artagnan felt when he saw the King with the Dauphin only increased when he saw the Queen with him. There was nothing quite like the love and bond between a mother and child; King Louis' own relationship with his mother an exception. D'artagnan watched as the Queen pressed tender kisses to the Dauphin's face, nuzzling her nose into the side of his neck, causing the baby to giggle.

He didn't notice when Constance placed her hand into his, lacing their fingers together, giving a firm squeeze. _You are not alone. I am here._

D'artagnan squeezed back, _thank you._

They all continued to walk along outside, the pain becoming more intense the more time d'artagnan was forced to watch the King and Queen with the Dauphin. The more the pain intensified, the more tighter the guilt that he felt, because of the pain, became tighter; until it felt as though someone was pinning him against a brick wall, the bricks digging into his back, scratching at the skin as the person's hand squeezed his throat tighter, slowly cutting off his air. Only having a brief reprieve with every squeeze Constance gave his hand, reminding him that she was there beside him every step.

“d'artagnan?” The Queen's voice broke through his thoughts once again, “are you alright?”

“Yes, your majesty,” d'artagnan was quick to respond, offering her an attempted smile.

“He is still recovering from his illness that he's been suffering from,” the King added and looked at him, “is the fresh air helping?”

“Quite, your majesty,” d'artagnan nodded, not missing the concerned look or frown that passed over the Queen's face.

“Perhaps a visit with Constance through the gardens might help,” The Queen offered a polite smile to him as she looked between both him and the red haired woman standing beside him, “if your majesty does not mind,” she looked to the King.

The King nodded, smiling, “yes, a walk through the gardens. I am sure I am not the only one who has missed your company,” he smirked at Constance before he looked back to d'artagnan.

“If you are sure, your majesty?”

“Yes, yes,” the King shooed at them, “I look forward to seeing you back regularly, d'artagnan.”

“Of course, your majesty,” d'artagnan bowed to both him and the Queen before he and Constance turned and walked away from them, making their way to the gardens.

All the while the grip on his throat lessening with each step away from them he took. The guilt remaining the same.

When they reached the safe haven of the gardens, d'artagnan stood beside the fountain; closing his eyes and taking in deep breaths.

“D'artagnan?” Constance stood close beside him, rubbing her hand up and down his back while her other hand gripped his right foreman gently.

“It hurts, Constance,” d'artagnan said, “ _my God,_ does it hurt!”

“Sit,” Constance turned him and guided him to sit on the edge of the fountain, sitting down immediately beside him; continuing to rub his back while her other hand moved from his forearm to his hand.

“Should it still be hurting this much?” D'artagnan asked. “I hold no ill will to either of them, I don't,” d'artagnan shook his head, “but… I can't, _I can't_.”

“I know,” Constance soothed, “I know, d'artagnan.”

D'artagnan took a moment, leaning foreword and tucking his head between his legs, willing the nauseous feeling to go away while Constance rubbed his back with one hand while she ran her fingers through his hair with the other. When it finally did go away he sat up slowly and Constance reached back with her hand, wetting it in the fountain before she brought it up to his face, running her cool hand over his face.

“Breathe, d'artagnan, just breathe.”

D'artagnan closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her cool hand against his warm face.

“I know he loves me,” d'artagnan opened his eyes, “ _I know_ but I know he loves her too, not in the same way but he does. I know that he slept with her before we were together and that it shouldn't matter,” he shook his head, “… but it does. I forgive him but he still broke my heart,” he looked over to Constance, “… and I can't help but to feel guilty for the pain I feel because… because what do I have to feel pain over? Yes, I am his lover who found out he bedded someone else but he's the one who has to watch his son be raised by another.”

“ _So don't you_ ,” Constance squeezed his hand, her eyes staring sharp into his, “you have to watch just as much as Aramis does.” Constance leaned in, “ _you_ are his lover, d'artagnan. Your emotions are just as valid as his are. _You_ have the right to feel your pain. Don't ever think differently.”

D'artagnan leaned forward, burying his face into the pale skin of her neck while she wrapped her arms tight around him.

* * *

 

It was some time later when Porthos came for him. Constance was pleased that d'artagnan wouldn't have to ride alone back to the garrison and she knew that Porthos would have him smiling all the way.

“Constance,” Porthos smiled, removing his hat from his head as he bowed to her.

D'artagnan rolled his eyes while Constance laughed. Porthos' own deep laugh joined hers as he gave d'artagnan a fond look before he looked back at her, “behaved himself, did he?”

“He was a well behaved puppy,” Constance shot d'artagnan a teasing look with an amused smile.

“Why are you my best friend again?” d'artagnan asked while his lover and said best friend shared a laugh, d'artagnan shaking his head and smiling only a moment later.

“He needs to be fed,” Constance gave Porthos a stern look before she pulled d'artagnan into a hug, squeezing him tightly before releasing him, cupping his face with her hand.

D'artagnan placed his hand over hers, giving her a smile, _I know, I know. I'll remember._

Constance gave a quick squeeze to his fingers, _you better._

The beginning of the ride back to the garrison was quiet, d'artagnan buried in his thoughts and enjoying his time with Porthos; while also enjoying the fresh air. Summer was coming to an end and he was happy to see it go while also wanting to keep the lazy, summer days. Though it was that this summer was anything but lazy.

“Hey,” Porthos said, “you alright?”

D'artagnan sighed, “I can handle palace duty, Porthos.”

“Never said you couldn't,” Porthos responded.

D'artagnan looked over at the other man, “where are the others?”

“Practicin' back at the yard,” Porthos grinned. “We were bored, waitin' for you to be done and I won the competition.”

“Competition?”

Porthos nodded, “to see who got to come get you.”

“Of course,” d'artagnan rolled his eyes. His lovers _would_ make a competition out of everything, though he admits that he would be apart of it, especially if they were bored with nothing to do. Kept them out of trouble. _For the most part._

“Hey.”

D'artagnan looked at Porthos and noticed that the man had stopped his horse and was staring at him, making d'artagnan stop his own beside him.

“We love you, ya know that right?” Porthos asked.

“Yes,” d'artagnan nodded.

“So you get why we worry about you?” Porthos asked.

“Porthos-”

“I forgive him too, d'artagnan,” Porthos said, “Aramis is my best friend, my brother. I forgive him for what he did. I also feel sorry for him because he'll never be the Dauphin's father but I'm also not forgettin'.”

d'artagnan looked away from the ground and to the other musketeer.

Porthos continued, “What he did was reckless and idiotic. It hurt that he kept the secret, hurt like hell and it'll always be tender,” he stared at the younger man, “especially hurt that he did that to you.” Porthos reached over, covering d'artagnan's hand on the reins, “you ain't wrong, what you're feeling. Doesn't mean you love him any less.”

D'artagnan nodded as he looked down at the other man's hand, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You're strong and capable, d'artagnan,” Porthos stated, “but even musketeers need a day off from duty.”

“Is that your way of saying that if I don't feel like going to the palace, I don't have to?” d'artagnan asked, a slight smile appearing on his lips.

“We're good at making excuses,” Porthos shrugged, “The King can handle not seeing you for a day.”

d'artagnan laughed as he shook his head. Without thinking he leaned over, a smiling Porthos meeting him halfway, placing a firm, solid kiss to his lips. D'artagnan knocked his forehead against his, “you're an idiot.”

Porthos shrugged as he rode on with d'artagnan smiling after him.

* * *

 

A day after Captain Treville sent D'artagnan and Aramis on a mission to deliver a message to someone that lived about a three day journey from Paris and that was on a good day with good weather. D'artagnan, knowing his luck, wasn't surprised when on the way back, the weather took a turn for the horrible and forced Aramis and him to take shelter. They were able to get a room at a local tavern late in the night, escaping from the heavy rain just in time before the thunder and lighting started.

Neither of them slept that night though. Aramis and d'artagnan both laid in the bed, close enough to each other without actually touching, pretending to sleep. That was after Aramis rubbed d'artagnan's sore shoulders and after d'artagnan pressed a kiss to Aramis' palm in gratitude.

The tension was thick between them and d'artagnan swore you could see it in the early morning's light. He knew Aramis was trying, _by God was he trying,_ but this was a wound that he could not heal.

D'artagnan sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at Aramis who laid behind him on the bed; his body just as tense as d'artagnan's. “I know you're trying, Aramis. I know that you're in pain and I wish that I could soothe that pain away from you,” d'artagnan swallowed the lump in his throat, “I wish that you did not know that pain.”

He was thankful that Aramis didn't interrupt him.

“I forgive you Aramis, I do,” d'artagnan said, “but I'm trying too. I'm feeling pain too and I'm afraid that there's no balm of yours that can numb this pain, soothe it away.” He shook his head and clenched his fingers into the sheets, “I feel as though I'm suffocating every time I'm at the palace. Every time I see _them,_ the imaginary hand that grips my throat tightens; the fingers clenching ever the more around my neck and I think, _damn them, damn her… damn you,_ ” the tears roll down his cheeks, he doesn't bother to wipe them away, “and then there's a moment when I think, _if this is the pain I feel when I'm here than imagine how you must feel._ I think, _this is just my temporary hell while for you it's permanent_ ,” d'artagnan shakes his head, “but it's not temporary, is it, Aramis? For it will never go away. The Queen will never stop being the Dauphin's mother and you will never stop being his _true_ father. And I will never forget this, I will never forget that you broke my heart.”

D'artagnan rose from the bed and over to the table, where a pitcher of cold water sat. With shaking his hands he poured the water into the basin and when he was done, he splashed the water against his face. He took a few breaths, bracing himself against the table.

“I will never forget how much I love you,” d'artagnan whispered, “I love you, Aramis, but damn you for doing this!”

He heard shuffling from behind him but he didn't move, didn't turn around.

Soon, he felt Aramis against his back. Soon he felt Aramis' hands upon his shoulders giving them a gentle squeeze before he moved his hands down d'artagnan's back, his fingers trailing his spine through his thin shirt. Aramis then wrapped his arms around d'artagnan from behind, leaning his forehead on the space between his shoulder blades.

D'artagnan straightened, leaning back against the other man, moving his hands to grip at the hand that Aramis had covering his chest, laying against his beating heart. “Damn you,” he murmured.

Aramis brushed d'artagnan's hair away from his neck, baring the skin to his lips. He pressed kisses there, to the tip of his ear, to his earlobe. Then he brought his hand forward and around, pressing his fingers gently against the younger man's jaw, making him turn his head and look at him.

D'artagnan turned his head, wanting to but not wanting to look at the other man. He was a wreck and what would he think? D'artagnan was shocked to find Aramis' own dark eyes blurred with tears. Aramis moved his thumb up, brushing away the tears that had fallen on his left cheek while on his right cheek, he kissed away the tears. D'artagnan closed his eyes as Aramis pressed his forehead against the side of d'artagnan's. The younger man leaned into Aramis' touch as the other man buried his face into his neck, his arms coming to wrap tighter around him.

“Damn you,” d'artagnan whispered, as he turned his head away and went to move from his arms.

No sooner did he do that, that D'artagnan found his back pressed up against the wooden table with Aramis bracketing him in between his arms. D'artagnan gripped the table with his hands and Aramis was quick to cover them with his own. He stood still as his heart began to pound in his chest and Aramis stared at him, with his dark brown eyes; _d'artagnan. Please._

“Damn you.”

Aramis leaned his forehead against d'artagnan's; his eyes never closing as he stared at d'artagnan before he tentatively pressed his lips against his.

Once.

Twice.

On the third, Aramis pressed more firmer.

_Damn you._

D'artagnan responded and Aramis was quick to follow. He wrapped his arms around Aramis' neck, his hands gripping onto his shoulders as the other man spun him around and began to push him toward the bed. Their lips were bruising against each others as if they were both fighting for the first sip of water after going without for awhile. Their fingers dug into each other's skin as if they were reaching for the surface, saving themselves from drowning.

* * *

 

D'artagnan fell back onto the bed with Aramis falling on top of him, unwilling to remove his hands or lips, for that matter; careful though to not crush the younger man beneath his weight. They had to part, though, for air; d'artagnan moved his head to the side, Aramis biting into his skin that presented itself as he bared his neck. Tears pooled into his eyes again and d'artagnan bit his lip in frustration. He turned his head back to Aramis, forcing eye contact, _showing_ Aramis his tears.

“Damn you,” his voice, though soft, seemed so loud in the small room; the only other sound being their harsh breathing and d'artagnan's heart, which he was sure could be heard echoing clearly throughout.

Aramis pressed a soft kiss to his lips, cradling his face between his hands, his thumbs brushing away his fresh tears. D'artagnan closed his eyes as he brought his own hands up, interlocking his fingers with his; at first gently before he squeezed harder, turning both of their hands practically white.

Their kisses became harsh and bruising once more. D'artagnan vaguely recalls moving backwards on the bed, so that he rested back against the only two pillows on the bed, Aramis following after him. He vaguely recalls either of them removing their shirts. He _remembers_ the kisses that Aramis pressed against his body, all the way down to his stomach, to the top of his trousers. As though Aramis thought to erase all the scars the marked his body with his lips.

It had been so long since d'artagnan had been with Aramis in this way. He had missed this, _oh how he missed this_. Despite his yearning for him, despite how much he wanted this, d'artagnan still felt the pain radiating throughout his body, throughout his being.

He couldn't stop. _He couldn't stop imagining Aramis and The Queen._

D'artagnan surged up off the bed, flinging himself on top of Aramis, his tears now that of anger as he stared down at the man beneath him.

“Damn you,” d'artagnan's voice harsh as he spoke through clenched teeth, he squeezed his hands against Aramis' wrists, probably hard enough to leave bruises but finding himself unable to care, “why did you do that? _Why did you have to do this_?” He pressed his forehead against Aramis'.

“I'm sorry,” Aramis murmured, “ _I'm sorry_.”

D'artagnan remained silent.

“I'm sorry,” Aramis pressed his lips against d'artagnan's tenderly, whispering his words against them. “I'm sorry.”

Aramis pushed d'artagnan gently back, returning to his place above him. D'artagnan allowed him to do it, he allowed him to press kisses against his face, against his jawline and along the front column of his neck.

“My hell is permanent because I know _I_ broke your heart,” Aramis spoke, “… and I know your wounds won't ever heal fully.” Aramis once again leaned his forehead against d'artagnan's once again, “ _I'm sorry, my love_.”

D'artagnan pushed up and bit Aramis' bottom lip, he being the one to initiate the harsh kiss this time. Both of the men crying out as Aramis entered d'artagnan a few moments later for the first time in a long time.

Aramis intertwined their hands together and brought them above d'artagnan's head as he thrust into him, pressing his lips to d'artagnan's in a messy, heated kiss.

Both of them stared at each other.

_Damn you._

Thrust.

_I'm sorry._

Thrust.

_Damn you._

Thrust.

_I'm sorry._

Thrust.

D'artagnan was now sitting in Aramis' lap, his knees bent back and cradling his thighs as Aramis continued to thrust up into him. There was a brief pause, their harsh breathing the only sound that filled the room, swirling within the air of sex; as d'artagnan brushed some of Aramis' black hair from his sweaty forehead.

“I love you,” d'artagnan was breathless when he pressed a kiss to Aramis' forehead. “I love you.”

“My love,” Aramis kissed him, “my love.”

_I love you._

Thrust.

_My love._

Thrust.

D'artagnan doesn't remember when it ended. From the light or lack of, that shined through the room's windows, told him that it was now early evening and that he and Aramis had been at it all day. Though the pain was still there it had lessened some.

As d'artagnan laid there, sweaty and sated wrapped in the arms of Aramis, whose fingers brushed up and down and his spine and whispered Spanish lullabies in between kisses; the beat of his heart became less erratic and the jagged edges of the pieces of his heart became less sharp.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading & I hope you enjoyed! (:  
> lyrics at beginning: On the Shore by Slow Skies
> 
> -KT xo


End file.
